


A Million Dead End Streets

by Who_let_the_gays_out



Category: Game Grumps
Genre: Depression, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-10-11 15:56:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10468674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Who_let_the_gays_out/pseuds/Who_let_the_gays_out
Summary: Dan had always thought that committing suicide would be a big, dramatic thing. He’d always pictured it like a scene from a movie; with a lot of crying and screaming and desperate pleas to not do it, tear stained goodbye notes and shaky voicemails, blood and sweat and tears and a lot of regret.In reality, at least in his case, it’s a whole lot simpler.---Angsty one shot where Danny almost kills himself cos pushing your own issues onto a fav character is 100% healthy dont even worry about it





	

Dan had always thought that committing suicide would be a big, dramatic thing. He’d always pictured it like a scene from a movie; with a lot of crying and screaming and desperate pleas to not do it, tear stained goodbye notes and shaky voicemails, blood and sweat and tears and a lot of regret.

In reality, at least in his case, it’s a whole lot simpler.

He'd been lying in his bed for hours now, just staring at the ceiling, trying to deal with the swirling mess that is his current mental state. He started feeling shitty around midday, but rather than just staying in a shitty mood for however long it decided to stick around, it had steadily gotten worse as time had gone on. He’d gone home early, telling everyone he was tired as an excuse that wasn’t 100% a lie, and had quickly regretted it. Home was familiar, but he had very little to busy himself with, and there was nobody there to guilt him into actually doing something. He’d tried to sleep, but had failed, which he expected but was still annoyed about. Then he’d tried to play a game, ranging from the original Legend of Zelda to Super Mario World, and then Kirby’s Epic Yarn, of all things, but it had all felt like work to him, and he’d left the TV on the Kirby pause menu to go and find comfort in the kitchen.

He’d started with a beer, some cheap brand that tasted like shit and smelled worse. He had hoped that the buzz of being drunk would be worth it, but it did no such thing, just making his mouth taste dead and making him slightly disorientated. He’d then moved on to a cigarette, which had just made him cough and splutter, reminding him that he hated the things before crouching beneath his bed and fishing out the box of weed he’d kept for either a special occasion or a day like today, rolling a joint and lying back on the bed, lighting it and exhaling the smoke with a deep sigh, reveling in the familiar taste.

That brought him to his current situation, lying back, sinking into the mattress, sucking the life out of the same joint, trying desperately to feel something. He’d turned on the radio at some point, though he couldn’t actually remember when, and it had turned onto a golden oldie station that was coated in static. He smiled slightly between puffs, mouthing silently along to the words of a David Bowie song he couldn’t remember the name of, trying to entertain himself slightly while he waited in vain for the drugs to make him feel better.

However, the combination of a beer, a cigarette and weed hadn’t improved his mood, and had just made him dizzy and disoriented. He took another drag, feeling the end of the joint sting his fingers but not giving a shit. He inhaled until his lungs were screaming in pain, and even then he held on for another second before removing the joint from his mouth and watching smoke swirl towards the ceiling and then spread to turn the whole room grey. He admired the faint black marks on the tips of his finger and thumb from the joint burning him, rubbing them together so it would sting even more and sighinh. He relished the pain tje burns gave him, and before he could think about what he was doing he was slowly lowering it to the skin of his wrist and pressing down, hard.

His entire body stiffened with the pain, but he just pressed it harder against him until it became too much, flicking it away from him and onto the floor. He admired the dark brown circle left behind, relishing the sting that remained even after the joint was gone, and thinking to himself that he must be royally fucked in the head to enjoy a joint burn. He smiled slightly at the thought, and moved to get the joint off the floor before realizing he had flicked it far enough to warrant him actually getting up to get it. He lay back again and huffed in annoyance, pressing down on the burn to try and get another sting of pain, before suddenly remembering the razor in his bedside table.  He stared at the draw where he had thrown it last, toying with the idea before reaching for it, fumbling around blindly inside the draw until he found the razor, still sharp, still stained with specks of red, still his secret guilty pleasure.

It had been ages since Danny had cut, since the unsettling mix of guilt and relief he got from looking at the scars was hardly worth it, but in that moment he couldn’t give a single fuck. He ran a nail across the specks of blood, trying to clean it but quickly getting impatient and moving it to the same wrist the burn was on, placing the sharp edge against the skin and pressing down harder, harder until the sting started and then got worse until he felt the hot liquid drip down his arm. He smiled widely, letting his head fall back and closing his eyes, even when he felt tears stinging under his eyelids. He started another cut without looking, this time going hard from the start and squirming through the pain. He could feel tears streaming down his face, but he didn’t stop. As much as the pain hurt, it made him feel real, alive, and that was enough for him.

By the time he’d opened his eyes again, he’d made 4 clean cuts down his wrists, and he raised an eyebrow when he saw the red covering his entire forearm. He dragged a finger upwards across his arm, watching the blood part to show his pale skin, and then raised the razor again to drag it along the showing skin. He watched as the skin parted, going deeper and deeper until the pain got too much. He raised his hand, feeling it shake, and dropped the razor to the floor. He exhaled, breath as shaky as his hand as looked at the wound he had created. It was long, deep, and bleeding heavily enough to soak his clothes. In the back of his head, a little voice told him that he’d gone too far, that a wound that big would kill him if he didn’t get help.

_So be it._

The thought goes through his head unexpectedly, and Dan stares at the celling with slightly widened eyes, considering the fact that he might be about to die. He toys with the idea of being dead, of now having to deal with his shit show of a brain, or anything at all. No more guilt, no more pain, no more having to cut himself just to feel something.

It sounds appealing.

So he settles back on his bed, closes his eyes and stares at the ceiling. The pain soon begins to ebb away, becoming a dull throb and then a faint annoyance. He tries to mouth along to the song on the radio, but eventually he is just opening and closing his mouth like a fish, and he quickly stops trying in favour of going to sleep. He can feel himself ebbing away, and he’s okay with it.

Suddenly, he hears the front door slam, and the sound of footsteps walking down the hallway. He hears Arin yelling “Danny, I’m home and I bought shitty pizza, we still got shitty beer?” and Danny feels his heart drop to his stomach with the realization that Arin might walk in on him bleeding out. He tries to stand up, and while he’s not sure what he was planning to do if he managed to stand up, it doesn’t matter as he collapses as soon as he tries to put weight on his legs. He hits the floor with a loud thump and he yelps in pain before he can stop himself.

“Danny? You okay?” Arin yells, and Danny curses under his breath as he tries to stand again. His automatic instinct is to run, but the pain from the wounds is back and crippling to the point of him not being able to even stand without his knees giving out. The sound of him trying makes Arin hurry to his room quicker, and before Danny has a chance Arin is knocking on the door and talking in a concerned voice;

“Hey Danny, you alright?” He asks, but when Danny tries to talk all that comes out is a strangled cry, and that makes Arin push the door open without hesitation. All Danny has time to do is raise his head, and he sees the expression on Danny’s face go from concerned, to confused, and then full on horrified as he takes in the sight of his friend laying stomach down on the floor of his room, soaked in blood, propping himself up on his elbows and crying.

“Jesus Chri-Danny!” He cries, before he is running to Danny and crouching beside him. “Danny? Danny, what the hell happened? Danny?!” Danny opens his mouth to try and speak, but he quickly gives up, letting his head droop, and Arin takes the action as a response;

“Shit- Okay, Danny? It’s gonna be alright, okay? We’re gonna- we’re gonna fix this. We’re gonna get you help-“ He stops talking to pull on Danny’s shoulders and tug him onto his back, which Danny doesn’t resist, but he does resist when Arin grabs his arm to try and inspect the place the blood is coming from. Of course, he is too weak to do anything but flail slightly, and soon Arin is staring directly at the 5 clear cuts on Danny’s skin, as well as the burn mark, and Danny physically winces at the sound of Arin’s breath catching in his throat.

“Danny...did you?...” He lets his voice trail off, and Danny only has to look at him through tear filled eyes to tell him what he’s already guessed. He watches as Arin exhales harshly, tears forming in his eyes, and just lets his head loll against Arin’s chest as a silent apology, eyes closed and mouth a straight line. Arin takes it, and holds the man for a second before pulling away and looking him in the face, prompting Danny to open his eyes and face him, though he can barely focus on the man’s words;

“Look, Danny, I’m gonna get you an ambulance, okay? I’m gonna get you help, just wait here, alright? And try not to move, okay?” His voice is fast and desperate, and he gets up and runs for a phone the second Danny nods his head enough for it to count as an answer. He feels cold without Arin holding him, and the thought that _holy shit, he might be about to die_ makes his heart miss a beat. He looks though teary eyes at the cuts, regretting every inch of parted skin, and as his consciousness fades his only thought is that he didn’t want it to end like this.

Not like this.


End file.
